


Trust in Me

by insatiablegaydesire



Series: The Queens of Westeros [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/F, First Time, Fluff, Smut, also if you're only here for the smut its going to be in the last chapter, consent is v important folks, i can assure you that sansa is in no way at all pressured by daenerys, i will add more tags as i post chapters, if this work is still unfinished. well. you're out of luck bud., there are no graphic scenes or memories of it but this fic does deal a lot with her recovery, trigger warning for sansa's sexual trauma, yup its a three in one y'all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-04-01 08:12:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13994151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insatiablegaydesire/pseuds/insatiablegaydesire
Summary: Sansa left Dragonstone with a kiss upon her lips and a promise from Daenerys to meet again soon. A few months later, Daenerys fulfills her promise, traveling to Winterfell and meeting the rest of the Stark clan. But while the two are more in love than either could have ever imagined, trauma and past still plagues Sansa's mind, and the conflict between what she wants and what she can handle takes center stage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think I was gonna post this fic until at least September, as a oneshot, but here I am. I can't promise a consistent updating schedule, or that it will be quick, but I can assure you that I'm very motivated to finish this fic. It's what Daenerys and Sansa deserve.

It has been over two months since Sansa had left Dragonstone to travel back to Winterfell. The morning of her departure, Daenerys had kissed her lightly on the lips, a mere hint of the passionate ones they had shared a few nights prior. Missandei was the only witness to their farewell. The woman had averted her eyes to the ground, allowing them privacy, but Sansa had caught the knowing smile that adorned her stretched lips. 

They had corresponded in letters sent by raven since, but to Sansa, a few written sentences was nothing compared to being with Daenerys herself. Being caught in that icy blue eyed-stare was the place she felt safest, and she was eager to be back within in. 

When she had received the message that Daenerys was planning a trip to Winterfell, Sansa was almost struck stupid with delight. It was a miracle she had remembered to start the preparations at all.

When she had found a moment to break her thoughts from salt flavored lips upon her own, she had called a meeting with the lords. Food was to be prepared, and a room too, but Sansa secretly hoped it wasn’t to come to much use. 

This had been three weeks in the making, and now it had come. Sansa could not be more happy. She is seconds away from being locked in those eyes once again, and she cannot wait to give herself up to them.

Sansa and her entourage stand in a field a little ways off from Winterfell, scanning the skies for Drogon’s dark shape. A sharp cry echoes in the distance, and Sansa’s heart beats a little bit faster, not from fear, but anticipation.

Sansa holds her breath as Drogon lands in a snow drifted field, his hefty ashen colored wings sending clumps of the white powder scattering. She smiles involuntarily when she spots Daenerys resting regally upon his scaled back, her white blond hair slightly tangled from the intense ride high above. But other than the messy braid, her image is flawless. Just like she was on the throne when Sansa first laid eyes on her.

Sansa remembers the happenings of that first night with the dragon queen, and a red hue begins to spread among her cheeks. She tries not to watch too closely as Daenerys turns to dismount from Drogon’s back.

“Welcome,” Sansa says, eyes crinkling at the corners. The wind bites at her exposed face.

“Thank you, Sansa.” Daenerys says, petting Drogon’s scales in a soothing manner when he snorts a great harrumph. She shivers, pulling her thick shawl closer to her chest. “It’s true what they say, isn’t it? The North is not made for the thinly skinned.”

Sansa chuckles, extending a hand. “Aye, it is not.”

Daenerys accepts the hand, stroking a thumb over Sansa’s palm. Her smile toward Sansa sets the Northern girl’s heart racing, warming her frigid body. “Then it is lucky that time has thickened mine.”

They stand there for a moment, basking in the sudden peace that is each other’s presence, when a cough sounds from behind Sansa. 

Jon stands with his hands stiffly held at his sides, his body unsure what to do without a sword at his hip. Sansa had insisted that he not bring one, because _Seven hells, Brother, we are greeting a queen, not an enemy on the battlefield._ “It is wonderful to finally meet you, Your Grace. Sansa has told me much about you.”

Daenerys puts away her smile meant solely for Sansa, and nods politely toward Jon. “It is I who is glad to meet Sansa’s family. If she is a representation of all of you, I’m sure the Starks and I are going to become very close.”

“Close I hope we become, for the sake of the entire kingdom,” Jon says.

Daenerys sighs, folding her gloved hands. “Yes, Sansa has told me of your growing concern with the trouble beyond the Wall.”

“And if we do nothing to stop it, our trouble will no longer stay beyond the Wall.” Jon’s face is passive, but Daenerys can sense the harshness that lies beneath it.

“If this allyship is to be successful, you must trust that I am prepared to help you. You have no need to think of threatening me, Jon Snow.” Her eyes are cold in warning. “While I do admit that I find the stories of the white walkers hard to believe, Sansa has enlightened me to their return. I am here to help.”

Jon nods, his gaze drifting over to Sansa, a questioning look in his eyes. Sansa avoids it, turning her attention instead to the sigil on Daenerys’ cape. She knows he is wondering how she possibly could have convinced the queen that is known to be as sharp and unforgiving as winter of the white walkers’ existence, but she does not care to fully explain to him the nature of their relationship quite yet.

After Daenerys nods to Drogon, sending him bounding up into the sky, the three of them, plus the seven knights Jon had insisted were to come ( _A Queen deserves a welcoming party, doesn’t she?_ ), begin to make their way down the path that had been stomped into the snow by travelers past. During the walk, Daenerys and Sansa don’t drift more than an arm’s length away from each other, not ready to be apart after such a long time.

“Did you find that you had grown less accustomed to the cold because of your time spent away in the South?” Daenerys asks.

While from anyone else, Sansa would have bristled at the mention of her past, here, she just smiled sadly. “Yes, and no. At first, it was hard to remember how to dress for the snow, but walking back into the frost, breathing it in once again... it brought me peace.”

Daenerys tucks her chin close to her chest. “I understand. The first time I stepped foot back on the sands of Westeros, I felt as if my mother were holding me in her arms, even if she had never truly gotten the chance. It is a peculiar feeling, but a welcome one.”

Sansa lays a hand on top of Daenerys’ upper back, and the two women move closer. Daenerys lightly rests her shoulder back against Sansa’s chest, turning her head inwards to block against the wind. She can’t help but breathe in the unique scent of Sansa, smoky yet crisp at the same time. Her chest grows warm at the thought of tasting for the origin of the scent, nipping her way across Sansa’s skin. She breathes in a bit of the icy air, trying to calm herself down before her mind begins to wander further. Her own sexual desires mean nothing compared to her desire for Sansa’s comfort.

By the time the group reaches the gates of Winterfell, the sun is making its descent towards the snow crested hills. The sky would be completely dark in under an hour. 

When the guards catch sight of Sansa, they bow their heads and move to the side to let their Lady in. Sansa greets them warmly by name, and Daenerys can’t help but spot the pleased look on one of the men’s faces, like that of a child praised by his mother. Daenerys takes note of this clear devotion, and her respect for both Sansa and the people of the North grows stronger.

Bran and Arya await by the amory, both with the same serene, yet distant face that each had wearing since they returned. But while Bran sits calmly, hands draped over the sides of his chair, Arya twirls her dagger skillfully between her fingers. 

“Daenerys, this is my brother, Bran, and my sister, Arya.”

Bran bows his head deeply, but Arya doesn’t even twitch.

Sansa is not pleased at this, and begins to apologize on Arya’s behalf. “I’m sorry, my sister, she’s-”

“An independent woman,” Daenerys finishes, smiling softly. She watches Arya closely, noticing the slight uptick at the corner of her mouth, and the slight slowing of the dagger’s movements. She turns back to Sansa. “I can certainly respect that.”

Sansa sighs in relief, looking over at her siblings once again. Sometimes she can’t help staring; she truly didn’t think she’d see any of them until after her own death. Warmth fills her chest in streams when taking in the strength in Arya’s frame, the delicateness in Bran’s hands, the ever present worry in Jon’s brow. But, that warmth drains out of her quickly when she catches Bran staring back at her, intensity in his gaze.

She doesn’t like the knowing look in Bran’s eyes. He knows far more than she can even begin to imagine, and although she knows she can trust her brother, she still has trouble shaking off the feeling that no one can be considered safe. She has so many times before been convinced that those with ill intentions truly had her best interest at heart, and not only their own.

With a pounding heart and an uneasy storm beginning in her chest, Sansa turns her body so that Daenerys is all she sees. The sight of the woman calms her a little bit, but it is not enough. She needs to get away from Bran, and these sickening memories plaguing her mind. She thinks a distraction in the form of a warm mouth pressed against her own would be the perfect cure. Trying to convince the others that she is not as shaken as she is, Sansa asks Daenerys “Would you like me to show you to your rooms now? I’d be happy to give you a tour of the castle, too, if you would like.”

Daenerys smirks, cocking her head to the side, as if what she was about to say was the punchline to a hilarious joke. 

“Yes, I would like that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been about a month... which honestly was expected. I hope you enjoy this chapter though!! Btw, I changed the number of chapters from 8 to 9 because I'm reworking the outline a little bit - which means more reading for you guys. :)

Sansa and Daenerys walk arm in arm through the stone corridors of the castle of Winterfell. Their dresses brush together as they move, creating a soft swishing sound that echoes faintly in the otherwise empty hallway. Sansa had decided to show Daenerys the rest of the castle before leading her back to her prepared room.

As they start to pass by a large doorway, Sansa slows their pace.

“Down that way,” Sansa gestures with a nod, “is the main entrance to the dining hall.”

Daenerys observes the doorway with a keen eye. The door itself is incredibly intricate, a thick slab of wood with carvings depicting animals of every kind. Fish curve parallel to the floor, making way for two deer, a lioness, and a great bear covering a quarter of the piece. At the top sits a huge direwolf head, its muzzle drawn back in a snarl, but paired with large, inquisitive eyes, as if sizing up every guest who would dare pass underneath it. 

She recognizes Sansa in its look; both strength and kindness lie within it.

“And over there,” Sansa nods to the opposite side, “leads to the kitchens.”

Daenerys perks up at this. “Kitchens?” she asks, biting down on her bottom lip. It had been hours since she had last eaten.

Sansa laughs, a beautiful, honey-warm sound, and steps forward to lead Daenerys down the aforementioned hall. “Mary will just adore you. She’s been cooking for my family since before I was born. You _must_ try her lemon cakes.”

“I absolutely love lemon cakes,” Daenerys says. Sansa responds with a beaming smile, and pushes through the door.

The kitchens are clouded with a heavy layer of steam and smoke, so when from within the thick fog a shrill voice yells “Sansa, sweetheart!” Daenerys almost jumps. A large woman comes bounding out, a grey apron harboring an array of multicolored stains wrapped around her middle.

Sansa lets go of Daenerys’ arm to hug Mary, her chin affectionately curling into the woman’s shoulder. They rock back and forth as they hug, almost like a mother and child. After they separate, Mary seems to finally take notice of Daenerys. While any other time she would find this blatantly disrespectful, and employ a chilling attitude towards the offender, she can’t fault the woman for only having eyes for Sansa. Daenerys can definitely understand the feeling.

“Well, Sansa, you’ve found yourself quite the looker now, huh?” Mary asks, a spark in her eye. The woman’s cheeks are bright red from the heat of the room, but the flush Sansa quickly develops after the comment rivals that deep hue. Daenerys likes this woman.

“Mary!” Sansa admonishes.

Mary laughs gutturally, throwing her head back and sending her greying chestnut curls flying over her shoulders. “I’ve known you since you were a young girl, San. I’ve seen the look of love in your eyes and I can see it again.” She cocks her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow towards Daenerys. “And even a blind man could see the love in hers. She’s not the emotionless witch the masses make her out to be.”

Daenerys smiles slowly, revealing her teeth. She definitely likes this woman. “Indeed, I am not.”

“But...” Sansa starts, the tone of the conversation shifting. “How... how did you know I liked women? To be completely honest, until quite recently, _I_ didn’t even know I liked women.”

Mary smiles sadly. “I remember the day you came to me asking if I could get the Septon to marry you and your little friend Jeyne. Your father laughed, called it mere childhood wishes, said that at your age you didn’t understand the true concept of marriage. But I could see it. You loved that girl, you didn’t quite know how much yet, but you did.”

Sansa looks at Mary unbelievingly. “You knew when I was seven years old?”

“You were never one for lies, my girl,” Mary says, patting her cheek. “You only started lying when you knew it was the only way in order to survive.”

Mary turns her attention to include Daenerys. “But now, with this fine young woman by your side, I can see the truth in your emotions once again.” She looks away, discreetly wipes at her eyes. “Now, any chance you came around for your favorite? I pulled out a batch of fresh lemon cakes just before you walked in.”

“We’d love some,” Daenerys says for the both of them, as Sansa is still standing speechless. She grabs two from among the crowded tabletop, and then they are back in the hallway, leaving Mary to her daunting task of managing the rest of the servants for the upcoming feast.

As they walk along the length of stone, Sansa thinks about her childhood and all the signs that she had missed. How could she have never known what she truly felt for Jeyne? If they would have stayed together for a few more years, would she have discovered it then? She could see it now, her and Jeyne sneaking off in the middle of the night, raiding the royal kitchens for sweets and giggling madly when they just managed to not quite get caught. Flour in their hair, smiles on their lips, small hands intertwined.

Would that have allowed her to pursue Margaery? Maybe if she had been brave enough to be honest with her friend, Margaery would still be alive and safe in Winterfell instead of sitting under the ground of King’s Landing with the rest of the ashes. Maybe they could’ve been something more, until Margaery discovered someone else who she was truly meant to be with. But Sansa would be fine, and she would go on, because at least she would know who she was.

Maybe the only person Sansa can blame for all the pain she feels is herself.

“Sansa,” Daenerys prods gently, interrupting her thoughts. “You’re nearly shaking. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Sansa stops, bringing Daenerys to a halt as well. “How could I have missed it? Mary didn’t miss a thing. Am I truly that stupid?”

At the word, Daenerys’ eyes flame, and she places her hands on Sansa’s face, stroking a thumb along her cheekbone. “You are everything but stupid.”

Sansa’s eyelashes flutter, letting tears escape as she shakes her head. “Everyone was right. You are just unable to see it because you-”

Daenerys cuts her off with a kiss, and Sansa simply melts. When Daenerys pulls away, her eyes are beginning to form tears of their own, and her voice shakes with conviction when she says, “You are not stupid. You are not some half witted girl, too unaware to recognize her own reflection. You are one of the strongest women I’ve ever met, and it hurts me to think that someone ever thought you less than that.”

Sansa tips her head forward until their foreheads rest against one another, and she sighs. “I do not know what force brought you into my life, but I thank every day for it.”

Daenerys gently presses her lips to the top of Sansa’s cheek. “I feel the same.”

Sensing that the attention is a little too much for Sansa, Daenerys instead turns her gaze to the wall beside her. She reaches out a hand to trace the grey stone, but yanks it back when she finds the touch unexpectedly warm.

“Surprised?” Sansa laughs. Her eyes, though still noticeably red, are now shining with something other than tears.

“I- I thought-” Daenerys stutters, her eyes blinking rapidly, then she pauses. She exhales through her nose, then lets out a light laugh of her own. “I thought it would be cold.”

Sansa nods fondly. “When I was younger, my mother told me that the reason the walls were so warm was because the gods lived within them. She said they resided in a tropical paradise, always ready to help us when we were in need.” Her smile loses its sweetness, tightening against her face. “It was years later when I found out from my father that the truth laid in the water of the hot springs that ran throughout the entire castle.”

Loosening her arm from its position locked within Daenerys’, Sansa touches both palms to the stone, relishing in the heat dripping its way through her fingers. She traces curving patterns with her fingertip. “It has been years since I left this castle, but it feels almost as if I never did.”

Daenerys steps forward to join her, laying her hand over Sansa’s on the wall. “That is how you know it is truly your home.”

Sansa drops their hands from the wall. “Was my home.” She bites her lip in thought, concentrating on the feeling of Daenerys’ wrist against her own. “As much as it feels like home, it hasn’t truly been since the day I got in that carriage to head south. These past few months, I can finally breathe again, but it is almost as if I can never fully catch my own breath. Every time I enter a room, or turn a corner, I get a glimpse of my old life, and I am reminded that I can never go back to it.”

Daenerys watches Sansa’s face, her own brow reflecting the sadness in Sansa’s. “Maybe you need a fresh start. Somewhere you have never been, where you are surrounded only by everyone and everything you love.”

“Surrounded by lemon trees.”

Daenerys laughs, tongue flicking out to lick her lips. “Yes, surrounded by lemon trees.”

_And a red door,_ Daenerys thinks to herself.

After a few quiet moments spent admiring each other, Daenerys says, “When I am Queen, I can help you find this place, Sansa.”

Sansa blushes, shaking her head. “You do not have to, Daenerys. A queen has so many more important things to think of.”

“There is nothing more important to me than you.”

Sansa’s smile blooms slowly, and for the first time since she’s returned, the walls surrounding her start to feel like home once again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well... its been some time. sorry about that. if anyone's wondering where i've been, its: graduating high school, moving five states away, and starting my first year of college. its been really fun to write this story though, and theres no way i'm abandoning it. just... taking my time i guess. whoops. BUT ANYWAY heres the daensa update! hope you enjoy it, loves.

After their heartfelt conversation, Sansa finishes the tour of the castle with Daenerys’ own room, which is conveniently located just down the hall from her own. She walks the two of them through a door with a red tapestry hanging down its front, decorated with Sansa’s own take on the famous Targaryen sigil. The room itself is moderately sized, with a sprawling featherbed, a chest of drawers made from a dark ashy wood, and a long table and chair. The whole setup is simple, yet entirely comfortable. Daenerys looks around at each of the pieces in approval, and sends a grateful nod Sansa’s way.

“My brother was shocked when I suggested this as your room,” Sansa says, absentmindedly wrapping her hand in the plush furs that stretch across the bed. She smooths down the bumps that had gathered in the bunched up fabric since the servants had set it out. “His impression of you was that you would want something, well... grander.”

“People do tend to have that impression of me,” Daenerys says with a smile as she sits on the bed, lightly pulling Sansa down with her so that they both rest on top of the furs. They sit with their legs toward each other, knees drawing close. “It’s lucky for me that you know I am not that sort of queen.”

Daenerys leans in, her intentions clear in where her eyes find their gaze, and Sansa meets her halfway. The kiss is soft, and lasts only for a second. Sansa almost sighs from the briefness of it when Daenerys draws back afterward.

Daenerys narrows her eyes in concern. “Is something wrong?”

“I just thought now that we were alone, you’d be more...” Sansa stops and blushes, turning her attention to the furs once more. Now that she has started to speak, she’s not so sure she wants to explain herself after all. After everything that’s happened, she’s not used to this, to being able to ask for what she wants and not forced into doing someone else’s bidding. Thankfully, though, Daenerys catches on to what she is thinking without her voicing it.

“Passionate?” Daenerys asks with a raised brow. Now it is her turn to look away. “Believe me, I would like that, I just thought you would prefer to, well, ease into things, as it were.”

“You weren’t so slow the night we met.” The words are out before Sansa can stop them. That night in Dragonstone was unlike anything she had ever experienced before, and there’s nothing more she wants than to return to those strong, urgent feelings Daenerys was able to rise up so easily from deep inside of her.

Daenerys seems to return to thoughts of that night as well, if the fond yet distant look in her eyes is anything to go off of. Once her mind is back in Winterfell, though, she is sure to give Sansa all of her attention. “That was before I knew what you had gone through.”

“I think... I think that’s what I want, though. How you kissed me that night. Like I was the only person you’d ever wanted to kiss.” 

“Okay. So this”—Daenerys grabs hold of Sansa’s chin, positioning it so their faces align perfectly, lips not even an inch apart—“is what you really want?”

Sansa’s breath escapes her, leaving her wanting. “Yes.”

“Then tell me any time if you want me to stop.”

Daenerys leans in again, but this time doesn’t allow Sansa to meet her halfway. She leads the kiss, pushing Sansa back onto the bed so that she can straddle her legs and rest comfortably on top. Sansa’s hand reaches out instinctively to caress Daenerys’ waist, drawing her further in so that their middles brush together. She hums in satisfaction at the contact, which Daenerys takes as a good sign to give her more.

Sansa lets out a quiet gasp when Daenerys uses her teeth to bite softly at her lower lip, but it quickly turns into a loud laugh when her own hand becomes jumbled in Daenerys’ cape, trapped within the thick folds. 

Daenerys withdraws with an amused sigh. “I don’t think capes are much suited to this kind of activity.” 

Sansa laughs again, agreeing, and reaches to unpin the heavy fabric from around Daenerys’ shoulders. Without looking over, she tosses the cloth halfway across the room, hearing the metal fixtures land with a sharp clink onto the stone floor.

Daenerys gapes at her, sitting straight up so that Sansa cannot take the chance to lure her away from this very important conversation with a kiss. “That piece took a team of weavers over five months to complete!”

Sansa, unbothered, lets her hand travel its way back down Daenerys’ body to rest on her lower back. The movement gets Daenerys to shut her mouth, and she sees a new confidence spark in Sansa’s eyes that wasn’t there before. “It’s cloth. And I’m warm, underneath you, with my only desire being to kiss you. Do you want to get up and hang your cape, or do you want to get back to what we were doing?”

“You...” Daenerys starts, her voice trailing when Sansa’s other hand grips her hip with a little more force. “Are the most compelling woman.”

Just then, before they can lean in yet again once more, a short symphony of knocks sounds at the door and causes Sansa to spring off of the bed with a shriek. She hurriedly moves to straighten out her clothes the best she can while Daenerys just positions herself on her side, attempting to hide nothing of their activities. The abandoned cape remains crumpled on the floor.

When Sansa calls out a quick “Come in!”, her handmaiden Ella enters the room. The young woman’s eyes dart between Sansa and Daenerys, clearly not expecting the state they appear in. She then notices the cape lying in a very unlikely place in the middle of the room, and swallows audibly. “Lady... Lady Stark. Your brother requests your presence in the armory.” 

Sansa nods to herself, and then to Ella, sparing the girl of the chance to ask any questions about what she is seeing. “Thank you, Ella. Give me a moment and I’ll see to him.”

Ella nervously curtsies with a smile. “You’re welcome, Miss.” And with that, she leaves, surely on her way straight to her friends in the kitchens with what she saw.

“I’m sorry about that,” Sansa says to Daenerys, turning back around to face the bed.

But Daenerys just smiles, nodding to her to go and see her brother. “Interruptions are common for a Lady of the house. We’ll just have to return to this some other time.”

Sansa blushes under Daenerys’ heated gaze. “Another time.” She goes to open the door, but before she makes it completely out into the hallway, she adds on, “Hopefully very soon.” And then, she is off.

As she walks through the castle, she notices a couple of girls already looking her way with a knowing stare. Sansa knows the gossip of her newfound bedmate is going to make the rounds across Winterfell until it is known to everyone and their mothers by this time tomorrow, but surprisingly, she doesn’t seem to mind. Somehow, she knows that Daenerys will make sure she is okay.

Sansa wonders what Bran would need from her now. Perhaps he already knew about her and Daenerys, and was going to feed her more cryptic truths. She doesn’t think there’s anything he isn’t aware of at this point, and it’s not exactly a reassuring thought.

But to Sansa’s surprise, it is not Bran waiting for her in the armory, but Jon. Of course it’s Jon. Her handmaiden Ella has lived in Winterfell her whole life, growing up alongside the Stark siblings. Even if the rest of the North refuses to see him the way he truly is, and embraces him as a Snow rather than a Stark, Jon is still her family. They grew up together in this castle, side by side from the very beginning. Sure they didn’t get along so well when they were young, but that was all in the past. They were together now, a family once again. And no bastard name could ever take that away from her. 

When she enters, her brother is standing idly in a corner of the armory, checking over their stocks while he waits. At the sight of her, he drops the bow he had been handling and walks out of the tent, glancing in the direction from where she came, then all around. Seemingly satisfied, he returns to the spot by the bows, and turns his attention to her.

Sansa’s gaze falls to the dragonglass littering the tables all around. “What’s wrong? Are the smiths running into trouble?

Jon shakes his head, blowing a heavy breath out of his nose in that singularly gruff way of his. “No. I asked you here so that we could speak in private, away from listening ears.”

“Who are we trying to avoid?” Sansa asks with amusement in her voice.

Jon awkwardly shifts his stance. He purposefully eyes the very telling wrinkled state of her dress, and suddenly Sansa knows exactly why he asked her here.

“You’re suspicious of Daenerys.” Her face falls in disappointment. She knew Jon wouldn’t rush with open arms to accept the dragon queen, but she expected somewhat better than resorting to conniving in armories with her like thieves.

“You and Daenerys Targaryen seem to be very... close.” He clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the subject at hand.

Sansa remains unbothered. Arms crossed, she stares at Jon, blank-faced. “Are you implying something?”

Jon’s face reddens as he avoids Sansa’s gaze. “Are you and her...” He flaps his hand about when words fail him.

Deciding to save him from this verbal precipice he is about to fall off of, Sansa sighs and drops her arms. “Yes. We are. You know, she’s actually a wonderfully kind woman once you get to know her. Not that you seem to be giving her that chance.”

“Sansa, you can’t blame me for being wary-”

She doesn’t hesitate to cut Jon off, fury running like dragonfire through her blood. “Do you think I would have let her come here, to our _home_ , if I didn’t trust her? If I even had _one_ suspicion that she would lead us to harm? Do you think I’ve learned _nothing_?”

“Of course not! I just... I can’t bear to see you be hurt again.” His eyes glaze over, and then they’re both back at the battle, Jon bloody, Sansa steeled, each scarred in their own way. Ramsey may very well haunt them for the rest of their lives. And with this sudden realization about the undertones of their conversation, she finds it overwhelmingly easy to abandon her quick and wild anger.

Reaching a hand out to grip Jon’s arm in a reassuring embrace, Sansa tries to figure out how to say what she needs to calm them both. “Jon... I love you. And I’m thankful that you want to protect me. But you don’t need to protect me from her.”

“Alright.” Jon nods resolutely, his stance losing a bit of its rigidness. “But if that ever changes, tell me. I won’t hesitate to challenge her, dragons and all.”

Sansa laughs at the thought. “You’re still terrified of them, aren’t you?”

Jon finally breaks out into a smile. “Completely. Almost fell right on the ground when it came crashing down with her on its back.”

“Oh, they’re not that bad.”

“You’re telling me you’d willingly touch that beast?” Jon’s brow is raised in a way that oddly reminds her of a certain stubborn Targaryen.

“Yes, if Daenerys would let me. She’s very protective of her children.” In fact, Sansa would love to be able to ride on one someday alongside Daenerys, just them and the open sky. But she thinks that idea would make Jon keel over in shock.

“Well, I’ll stay on the ground with Ghost, if it’s all the same to you.”

At the mention of the direwolf, Sansa finds herself thinking of Lady. A high pitched yelp echoes in her mind, and she blinks back tears at the memory. She tries to hide her pain, but Jon can sense it. The pack always can.

“Come down to training tomorrow, when he’s out with us,” Jon offers. “I know he’d love to see you.”

Sansa smiles tight-lipped, the thought of being with Ghost and petting his thick white fur already helping to ease away the pain. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Us Starks need to stick together.” After a pause, he adds hesitantly, “And maybe a Targaryen too.”

To Sansa, that statement makes the entire conversation in the amory worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I know that in the show Jon warms up to the dragons because of his Targaryen blood, but I also know his first reaction to them was to drop to the floor and almost shit his pants. so. I've elected to show that one.)


End file.
